historia de vita mea
by hetaliamongul123
Summary: fem!China AU :: The youngest daughter of a missing innkeeper learns that some secrets are not meant to be learned.
1. the flaw of humanity

**Title:** historia de vita mea

(The Story of My Life)

 **Author:** alyson yang (杨吖李)

 **Rating:** T

 **Genre:** Family/Drama

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 **author's note:**

This is a _sorta_ a historical fiction. (Translation: History is completely messed up, do _not_ get your historical facts from here.) I've always entertained the idea that after the **Chinese Civil War*** in 1949, 'China' (as in Yao Wang) split into two people to represent both the 'Republic of China in Taiwan' and the 'People's Republic of China'. So Chun-Yan represents the PRC, and Mei represents the ROC. However, they are both 'China' (which explains why Yao is their 'father').

The story starts off around the middle of **_Octobertime, 1958_.** The main character has already celebrated her birthday- however, Mei has not. This means Chun-Yan (PRC) is 13 and Mei (ROC/Taiwan) is 14 for the time being. (Chun-Yan's birthday is October 1st, Mei's is October 25th.) Kiku (Japan) is 26 in the first chapter (February 11th), and Lien (Vietnam) is recently 27 (September 2nd). The twins (North Korea, South Korea) have already turned 25 (August 15th). Kasem (Thailand) is the same age (June 24th). Jia Long (Hong Kong) is 17 (July 1st), and Andre (Macau) is 19 and will be 20 on December 1st.

 ***Yes, there was a Civil War in China (1927-1950). The conflict resulted in two _de facto_ states of China, one in Taiwan and one in mainland China. The Republic of China, or KMT party (Kuomintang), which ruled China after the Qin Dynasty, became the Republic of China in Taiwan, and the People's Republic of China, or Communist Party of China, took over the mainland.**

In China, it is customary to refer to those younger than you, especially if they are female, as 小 _ (pronounced _sh-yow_ in Mandarin). This is a term of endearment, as 小 means little, or small, in Chinese. Therefore, Chun-Yan (春燕, spring swallow) will be referred to as Xiao Yan (小燕, small swallow) by a variety of characters. Mei will also be known as Xiao Mei as some; this is a pun, as 美, as her name is written, means beautiful, but 妹, which sounds similar, has the meaning of younger sister. Xiao Mei, or 小妹, literally means little [younger] sister.

A note: _jie_ (姐) means older sister, _ge_ (哥) means older brother. The oldest brother or firstborn son in a family is typically known as the _da-ge_ (大哥, literally big [older] brother) by the other siblings—although this may not always be the case. Kiku, although the 'firstborn' son, is not referred to this in the story, as Lien is older than him—therefore, all of the siblings defer to her instead. However, she is not referred to as _da-jie_ (大姐, literally big [older] sister); Chinese families, especially during this time period, treasured the sons of the family far more than the daughters.

If it is not obvious enough, _baba_ (爸爸) means father and _mama_ (妈妈) means mother. These are considered childish terms, however, and older people prefer to use the more casual _ba_ and _ma_. A more disrespectful way to refer to one's parents is _lao die_ and _lao ma_ (老爹, equivalent to "old man", and 老妈, equivalent to "old woman"), particularly used by teenagers.

Also, please do not flame me for racism and country bashing. Please keep in mind that the main character is not a Mary-Sue, and so is not perfect. She will have _pretty_ opinionated views of others. This story was written trying to capture the viewpoint of a Chinese girl living in a shielded part of a major municipality, not long after the events of World War II. Naturally, xenophobia runs rampant.

"..." is speaking in Mandarin, which this story is also "narrated" in. Wu Chinese, although the standard dialect in Shanghai, will not be used, as both Wang Yao and his wife were from different parts of China (Anhui, Hubei), and therefore do not speak the local tongue. Naturally, their children speak the same language as their parents, but having been raised in Shanghai, know quite a proficient amount of Shanghainese as well.

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 _historia de vita mea_

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 **chapter one-**

 **the flaw of humanity**

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 _October, 1958_

There are fifty-six rooms in the inn, fifty-seven if you count the attic. Kiku- _ge_ 's been thinking about an expansion in the West Wing, but Lien- _jie_ says it's too expensive. It's actually not, if you add up all the funds that we've collected in the savings account, but everybody knows the real reason why she's so reluctant to hire contractors to work for us. Because, traditionally, it was _Baba'_ s job to make the rooms, and _Mama_ 's to furnish them. Something foreign is unthinkable, unwanted. Something that does not _belong_.

The local Police Department lists our parents as deceased, simply because it's so much less of a hassle then writing them up as 'Missing'. They've got better things to do with their time than trace endless circles around missing civilians who haven't been seen since a decade ago. That's actually a rather subjective view, though, and only makes sense if you think doing 'better' things with time is lounging around, drinking Western coffee, and waxing elaborate odes about the glory of Mao Zedong.

Today the sky is drab and gray, like the color of the cotton sheets draped in an economy-class room. In some of the more expensive rooms, there are brightly dyed fabrics imported from faraway places with exotic names like _Ah-rei-bi-ah_ and _Ah-fe-re-ka_. I am forbidden from entering these rooms, but I can imagine how soft the blankets must be, how high the pillow is. My own bed is composed of a small, handwoven bamboo mat and a thin coverlet stuffed with dried rice for a pillow, the traditional childhood bed. Kiku- _jie_ has promised to graduate me to a straw mattress when I turn fourteen.

It will rain soon. Mei- _jie_ is in the village marketplace currently, trying to shop for good deals. It's hard to get any reasonable prices on foodstuffs now, especially with the Great Famine in some of the Southern provinces where we usually import our edibles from, but somehow Mei- _jie_ manages to convince all the stall keepers to give her everything half-price. It is a talent worth boasting about, but only away from the watchful eyes of the law-keepers.

I can imagine her now, sharp tongue and bright eyes, pretty pink Bragi dress, haggling with the elderly woman who sells the herbs. Perhaps toying around with the butcher's son for a good deal on meat. She's fourteen right now, but in a few days she'll be fifteen. A good year to get married. And she's attractive, too, with the umber-brown hair and large, slanted golden eyes found in the Central-Southern regions of China. A rounded face, no overly sharp chins or sunken cheeks. Her status as the innkeeper's daughter, a respectable position, will only raise her worth.

They say she looks like our mother. There is a photograph of our parents on the front wall of the hotel, dating all the way to 1944, before I was born. _Baba_ stands regal and proud in his best _hanfu_ , his long ponytail wrapping handsomely around his shoulder, and next to him is _Mama_ , smiling like the sun, looking as if the world were made of joy. She was the prettiest girl in her hometown of Huangpi, in Hubei, and had been engaged to a well-off baker before she had ran away to a brighter future with _Baba,_ in Shanghai, the City-Above-The-Sea, working at _Baba_ 's new and uncertain Chun-Yan Bed and Breakfast Inn.

Chun-Yan, the Spring Swallow. A symbol for all the suffering my parents had had to go through to get here—it was the guide for travellers who had strayed from their paths, a symbol of prosperity and good health and longevity. The name they eventually chose for me, their last child, that short, small runt of the family, in hopes one day I would be a beacon of hope for others. They would probably be disappointed if they were to see me now.

I do not resemble either of my parents. My chin is pointed, my cheeks slightly slanted, my brown-red eyes almost too large for my face. Big and round, like a foreigner's. A childish appearance, complete with the dark onyx ox-horn buns I have never quite grown out of. Some say that I must take after my ancestors, and they console me with assurances that I am very pretty in my own way, beautiful, even. But even if I were to believe them, no man would ever want to marry such a young-looking girl, lest the gods curse them with a line of only daughters. It is a punishment given to those who have committed the gravest of sins.

Sometimes I wonder if _Baba_ thought about this, too, when he produced no sons with _Mama_. It is irony at its very best; his two biological sons are both mixed-bloods, children of people of non-Han origin. They are looked down on in culture, and there are some laws preventing them from owning land and property. He cannot give his property to his full-blooded daughters, either, for they might marry away and his lineage will no longer possess what is rightfully theirs. And his adopted children are out of the question—not only are of non-Chinese blood, they are also of impure races.

An almost laughable topic. A well-endowed innkeeper born of good, healthy farmer genes and the rare ability to read and write, taking in five foreign children—two of part-Japanese heritage and three born from the blood of third world country citizens—when he already has a beautiful, faithful wife and two pure-blooded daughters that will one day grow up and marry good families. One would almost expect this statement to be followed by a nervous laugh and a _kai wan xiao_ —just kidding!—by the speaker, because it's ridiculous, really, just plain ridiculous and why on Earth would any respectable man in his right mind take in a _ri ben gui zi_ —?

But of course, _Baba_ is long gone by now, his body probably already six feet under along with the corpse of _Mama_ , and any explanations for his actions will in most likelihood never be given in this lifetime.

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I bump into Lien- _jie_ on my way to the attic, hoping to catch a short afternoon nap before my evening shifts—delivering meals to the customers who pre-order Dinner Service, standing in as night receptionist until our customer influx increases. Her arms are filled to the brim with dirty sheets, wrinkled and graying, and emitting a faint foul odor oddly reminiscent of stale urine and sweat. The smell itself is unfamiliar to me, and I wrinkle my nose with disgust, but nonetheless hold out my arms obediently.

"Here, Lien- _jie_ , I'll take the sheets," I say, careful not to keep my lips open too long lest the miasma permeate my mouth with revolting flavor. "You should go back to your shift—"

She shakes her head, effectively cutting off the end to my sentence. She has always been a taciturn personality, as far as I can remember, but it is amazing how much she can convey with her body language alone. "...these are dirty sheets," she says in quiet Mandarin, a crisp, cool tone. "You shouldn't touch this, Xiao-Yan. You're much too young, too pure for this. This is human filth."

I tilt my head in confusion to her words, but before I can question her further, she has already brushed past me and into the hallway door behind the staircase. It takes me a second to realize that she has gone in the complete opposite direction of the laundry room, to the place where the boilers lie. What she would want with boiling hot water is beyond me, but then I remember the smell emitting from the sheets and decide that yes, indeed, anything so disgusting should be disinfected immediately.

The attic is made up of four rooms—a large bedroom, separated by a fraying silk folding screen so that the males and females sleep separately; a connected kitchen and dining room unit, where the meals are made and eaten; a privy, complete with fully functioning Western plumbing; and the last one a small bedroom, no bigger than a closet, reserved for guests if all the other rooms are occupied. Right now it is late harvest season, the least busiest time of the year, and so it is vacant, untouched and starting to gather dust. Yong Soo- _ge_ will either choose to clean it or leave it as it is now, depending on his mood. Most of the time he decides on the latter, which gives Hyung-Soo- _ge_ so many coronaries it's a miracle he's still alive right now.

Kiku- _ge_ is lying on his strange mattress—a _fu-tuan_ , a gift to him from _Baba_ a long time ago—when I open the sliding bamboo panels, unmoving and in most likelihood asleep. I carefully step over his still form, trying not to wake him up from his peaceful slumber, but he stirs to alertness as soon as I brush my wooden slippers on the ground beside him.

" _Xiao_ _-Yan_?" he says, running a hand through his hair tiredly and propping himself on his elbows. His words are slurred. "You are up rather early tonight..."

"I'm going to take a rest before my shifts," I whisper back, taking light steps across the room. Carefully sliding away the folding screen, I make my way to my mat and, kicking off the slippers, collapse on the hard surface. There is a slight _crunch_ as my head hits the rice pillow. "You should go back to sleep, Kiku- _ge_."

"No, I was about to rise just when you came in," Kiku- _ge_ says, and there are sounds of undressing on the other side. Most likely, he had been wearing traditional Oriental clothing to bed. Sometimes I wonder why he bothers to do so, especially when he is required to change into a Zhongshan suit right afterwards in morning, lest the Red Guards catch him practicing such heresy, for not adhering to the modern age. Perhaps he is rebelling in his own way, although I do not quite the understand the point of doing so.

"Hnn," I hum neutrally, rolling over on the mat, "okay." The musty, stale air of the attic brushes against the skin revealed by my pretty Bragi dress, a hand-me-down from Mei- _jie_ , and I shiver slightly. On some of the colder nights I usually join Mei- _jie_ or Lien- _jie_ in their beds, or perhaps even welcome Jia Long- _ge_ and Andre _-ge's_ warmths (although unlikely, as their mattresses are perhaps even harder than my own), but Shanghai's unexpected autumn weather patterns usually provide either reasonably cool or lukewarm evenings. Cold weather is a rarity so early in season.

Winter, however, is a different story. We are lucky if the frost does not scare off the fish, or freeze the fishing boats, often causing irreversible damage that bring bills with large and imposing numbers to our doors. One year, there was even snow, blanketing the world in endless white. I remember it particularly, because it buried the hotel completely and Kiku- _ge_ , Yong-Soo- _ge,_ Hyung-Soo- _ge_ , and Kasem- _ge_ had to dig their way out with help from some of the burlier customers, and also because I had a panic attack thinking that we would all die.

Before I was born, when the Japanese soldiers still occupied Shanghai, and foreign powers from very far away had taken to claiming sectors of land for their own greedy agendas, it was an even harder life during the snowfall season. My older siblings do not speak of such a time, but it was clear that there was not as much ample food as there is today, and even the rice in the rice pillows had to be cooked into _xi fan_ , or rice porridge. I am lucky to have been born during the end of the war; although Mei- _jie_ , being born two years before me, was spared most of the gore, I know that even she sometimes she dreams of blood and corpses and ghosts from times past.

I am rudely awakened from my hazy thought processes when loud footsteps clack into the room, shaking the floor, and shoves away the folding screen loudly. I notice that in my pseudo-nap somebody had tucked Lien- _jie_ 's thick fabric quilt over me, although my ox-horns have become loose and untidy over the rice pillow. I stare blearily at the intruder, eyes still glazed with sleep, aware that I probably am not looking very dignified at the present moment.

Luckily for me, it is only Mei- _jie_ , her hair pinned up in the usual large pink flower barrettes and fancy bun, a pair of small Western earrings hidden by her loose bangs—Kiku- _ge_ had put his foot down when she had asked to see the local doctor to get them pierced, but Lien- _jie_ had taken pity on her and punctured her ears instead. "Chun-Yan," she says, her face flushed with cold, and sits on her mattress, shivering—her revealing Bragi dress does her no favors, although I doubt she will stop wearing it for such trivial matters. "Kiku- _ge_ told me to wake you up for evening shift. It started raining earlier than we anticipated, so the meals are going to be served early today. Here, I'll redo your hair for you."

I crawl onto her lap compliantly. Despite being only two years older than me, Mei- _jie_ has always seemed to be a perfect, mature lady, the pinnacle I could never, would never reach. And ever since she went through puberty I can only barely brush against her shoulder, something I will be forever bitter about—our family is composed of people of above-average height; before her growing spell, at least I had a compatriot in dwarfism.

"Do you want to try something different today?" she asks, pulling my hair tightly. I stifle a cry of agony at her rough actions—like how Lien- _jie_ used to say, beauty is pain. "I was thinking a long braid, or maybe a high ponytail. You're getting too old for ox-horns."

" _Mama_ wore them too, so I don't see why I can't," I say defensively, and Mei- _jie_ shrugs, pulling my hair into a tight bun behind my head instead. I wince, but do not protest her actions.

"Yes, but _Mama_ was raised in Hubei. The people up there are louder than nine-headed birds, and the locals will cheat you out of all your money if you're not careful enough. Heaven knows what she picked up there, in such a _dirty_ place, before she left for here with _Baba_. We're fortunate enough to live in a city for proper, _civilized_ people. You can't simply go around in public looking like a fool."

I stare her from a corner of my eyes, wondering since when she had developed such an opinionated belief of people from other provinces. Certainly it was not from any of our siblings—a sinking feeling begins to grow in my stomach as I think about it, and I feel slightly ill. My older sister is slowly entering the prejudices of adulthood, and the large void in-between us, although already massive, is starting to expand.

Mei- _jie_ does not seem to notice my mental anguish. "Alright, you're all finished," she chirps cheerfully, removing one of her own pretty pink flower barrettes from her hair and tucking it the area over my ear. "Make sure you wear something over that dress, unless you want to waste away the entire day tomorrow in bed. Oh, and whatever you do, stay away from the East Wing tonight."

"Yes, _jie jie_ ," I say, not really processing her words, before standing up. Grabbing a shawl from the metal wall-hangers, I hurry down two flights of stairs and into the main hallway. There is a small utility cart waiting for me at the bottom, with a list of customers' names written in a mix of _fan ti zi_ and _jian ti zi_ — _Baba_ had taught my siblings the traditional characters, while I had grown up reading the standardized simplified Chinese, and so for simplicity's sake we used both and let the guests decide on which one they preferred.

There are only two requests for dinner service tonight—unsurprising, given how few customers we have right now. The tourism will resume again in winter, after harvest season is done and over, but in autumn we make do with what we can. We live in the outskirts of Shanghai, away from the hustle and bustle of the main city, hidden from Western cars and high-rise buildings common in the metropolis. There are advantages to this, but also disadvantages: for one, compared to larger hotels, our income is much more meager.

The first delivery round is no surprise; the _Chairman_ _Mao Brothers' Union_ rents the same room in the hotel every Sunday for their weekly gatherings (in which what they do has nothing to do with Mao Zedong, and more with illegal opium and gambling rings), and they have been coming here for so long that Kiku- _ge_ , who normally disapproves of such things, allows me to serve them. I knock on the door twice, pause for a second, and knock once again—the loud talking in the room drops to a murmur, and a bed creaks in protest as somebody rises and steps across the room.

There is a sound of the door being unlatched and it is opened to a small crack, a suspicious eye peering through through, before backing away to allow the door to swing open fully. "Ah, Xiao-Yan- _mei_ , you look so mature now with that new hairstyle!" a man laughs, putting a hand on my shoulder and ruffling it affectionately. I slip out of his hold awkwardly. "I almost didn't recognize you without the ox-horn buns—I swear to the Heavenly Emperor, you're looking more and more beautiful each day!"

"Please marry my son," another man jokes, smoking a joint of something rancid-smelling in a low horn-pipe as he lounges on the bed. "He's a Shanghainese man born and raised, he'll treat a pretty little lady like you right. I promise if you two get together, you'll never have to work another day of your life." The other men evidently find this humorous, whooping loudly and slapping their knees in amusement.

The room is dark and musty, cigarette smoke drifting out the one open window, the curtains blocking out both the sun and unwanted witnesses. There is a deck of cards and a pile of _yuan_ in one corner, a stack of scattered matches in the other, still-glowing embers from cast away tobacco ashes littering the ground and leaving scorch marks on the wooden flooring. Kiku- _ge_ has long given up on trying to fine them for such appalling treatment of privately owned property, instead choosing to add the damages cost inconspicuously to the final bill.

"If _anybody_ wants to marry me, they'll have to get past all six of my older brothers and then my two elder sisters," I quip back in good humor. I look inside of the cart at what Kiku- _ge_ has prepared. Ten bowls of rice porridge, a single plate of sea bass, three braised pork dishes. Another three plates of _xiao long_ _bao_ , steamed pork buns from the North with a Shanghainese twist. "And even if they do survive my siblings, if they're not rich, they can dream on." I begin unloading the top of the cart, setting down the food on the long wooden tables. Some of them are already beginning to form round heat rings from overuse.

They all laugh at that. "Alright, I'll take your word for it, little lady," a man says, evidently amused. "Thank you for bringing us the dinner. Take care, in this cold weather." The plates and chopsticks are passed out, and the room is filled with the sounds of arguing over splitting the food, cutting off any answer I could have given. Deeming my job as finished, I back out slowly from the room, carefully dragging the cart through the door frame. The door closes gently behind me.

The next delivery is on the other side of the building, in the North Wing. I carefully ease the utility cart across the bumpy floorboards, making my way through the precariously narrow hallways. My destination is the first one to the right from the entry point. The room is so silent, I'm doubting whether there's anyone in there or not, but I knock politely against the door anyway. If the tenants miss Kiku- _ge_ 's dinner, it's their loss, after all.

The door creaks open quietly, and a girl looks out cautiously. She must be around Jia Long- _ge_ 's age, perhaps seventeen or so, give or take, but she's not very developed and is maybe about only a head taller than me. She's not exactly beautiful, like my older sisters or _Mama_ , her features more boyish than not (even her hair is cut short, in some morbid parody of a funeral veil), but her stark plainness is refreshing, in a way, especially to someone like me who has had the unfortunate circumstance of growing up surrounded by unusually attractive people.

"Herro," she says, in a thick accent, and her voice is so quiet I have to strain my ears to catch it. Her manner of speaking is unfamiliar to me. "Who you are? I no ask for peopre—"

"I'm here to deliver dinner," I say quickly, before she can deliver any misconceptions about the hotel. "You are... _a_ _h_... you were the one who ordered dinner, right?" I look down at the delivery sheet and sure enough, in some form of convoluted Chinese I do not understand, the paper reads: 部屋9.

She shakes her head. " _Sakura Honda_ ," she says, pointing to herself. "That my name. I order earlier with _kanji_."

" _Sa-ku-ran Hong-da_ ," I attempt to pronounce, butchering the phrase completely. She gives a slight smile at my awkwardness. " _Sa-ku-rang Hong-da_? Ah, I can't pronounce it... I'm sorry..."

"It okay," she reassures me, nodding. "Good for Chinese person. You are name?"

"Chun-Yan," I answer her. "Call me Xiao Yan, though. Everybody does." I extend my hand in greeting, painfully aware of our difference in status—her fingers are white and bony, the hands of somebody who has never worked in their life, a high class person with servants at their beck and call. My own fingers are lithe and padded with slight muscle, as well as darkened by the seaside sun, although not as dark as the fishermen's wives who labor at the harbor every day.

"Chi-ne Ya-ma," she says, her pronunciation just as bad as mine. "That good name. I call you _chibi-_ Yama- _chan_ , you very short." She gives a small laugh, fanning herself with her hand to cover her mouth. Her previous shyness and suspicion slowly disappears, replaced by a more outgoing personality. "You work at hotel? You rook very young, still a chird—twerve, thirteen? "

"I just turned thirteen last week," I affirm, making a face at the odd nickname, before peeking into the cart and checking that everything is accounted for. Kiku- _ge_ always makes extra food, in case a guest changes their mind with their food choice, but it makes it hard to determine if every dish is present. "Do you want me to unload the dishes for you, or would you prefer to take them inside yourself?"

"I take them myself," she says, a small smile cracking at the edge of her lips. She is noticeably prettier when she smiles, small dimples forming on the folds in her cheek. "I eighteen, nineteen next month. Six year more old than you. _Otou-san_ work here for money. You are first not hate me because I from _Nippon_."

Suddenly, everything falls into place, from her heavy accent to her strange name. She is Japanese, and a true one, to top it off. Unlike Kiku, who was born of a mixed ancestry, with half a _Han_ parent, half a pure and respectable bloodline. This is an authentic foreigner, descended from the same people who killed and pillaged my people, who also has enough shamelessness to pursue a job in the very place that they had attacked only a few decades ago. A passive anger floods me, and I want nothing but to make her suffer, to make her feel pain beyond all measures—

She stares at me with a hopeful expression, as if trying to gauge my reaction to that statement, and all of a sudden I can feel nothing but a deep shame. Who am I to judge her because of her country, of the doings of others that she herself has no part in? In this aspect I am not better than Mei- _jie,_ belittling other provinces because of what few people are and most others aren't. The flaw of humanity has been passed onto me, so gradually that I never realized it, but ever present in my being. I have been stained black by the very things I abhor most.

I can feel my face heating up, and I clear my throat uncomfortably, forcing a hesitant smile on my face. I cannot make myself look at her in the eyes. "Am I?" I ask, blandly. "Why would people dislike you? You're a very pleasant person. Here, take these." I all but shove the dishes in her hand, and leave hurriedly, pushing the cart along the hallway; away from her, away from my guilt.

When I force myself to glance back just before turning the corner, she is still standing on the threshold of her room, unmoving.

Outside, the storm rages.

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	2. what we have lost

**Title:** historia de vita mea

(The Story of My Life)

 **Author:** alyson yang (杨吖李)

 **Rating:** T

 **Genre:** Family/Drama

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 **author's note:**

China in the Mao Zedong/Communist/early PRC era was a pretty depressing time. There were a lot of slums everywhere, unemployment, and crime rates were extremely high. Also, the Communist Red Guards were _not_ your average friendly neighborhood cop (unless you never had a friendly neighborhood cop and so this comparison is useless to you) and killed a lot of so-called 'traitors', the list of crimes including wearing traditional clothing, which was thought to mean you didn't accept the new government; not obeying the beck and call of a Red Guard; and simply looking "suspicious". Not exactly the happiest place... Well, maybe I'm slightly exaggerating a bit. This is about fifteen years after the war, so things weren't as bad as they were directly post-war or in the mid-late 1960s, which is where things _really_ went downhill.

As I've probably mentioned before, this story is set in Shanghai in the late 1950s and 1960s, which is also where my maternal grandparents grew up (they were born in 1945, the same year as Chun-Yan). Shanghai received a lot of foreign influence as it was one of the larger port cities in China, and basically because of that it modernized faster than a lot of other parts of China, including possessing cars, roads, tall buildings, etc. However, the Chun-Yan B&B Inn is located on the _very_ outskirts of the port city, which means that it will not see as much Westernization as other sectors, and still has some signs of its rural roots.

1958 is a big year in Chinese history, because it was the same year that Mao Zedong issued the edict to begin the **Great Leap Forward**. For those of you who have no idea what that is, it's basically a point in history that **killed approximately 45 million people**. 7% (3 million) of these deaths were caused by suicide, while another 6% (2.5 million) people were beaten or tortured to death. Everyone else starved.

The phrase _wang ba dan_ (王八蛋, literally offspring of a turtle) is thought to have originated in the Song Dynasty, although some historians dispute this theory. The phrase is equivalent to the English expletives SOB or bastard, although it can have more negative or more positive connotations depending on the context. Similar to SOB, the meaning of _wang ba dan_ has expanded to an extremely broad insult, and is not limited to insulting children of illegitimate status.

In Korean honorifics, a male calls his older brother(s) or an older male close to him _hyung / hyeong_ (형) and his older sister(s) or an older female close to him _noona / nuna_ (누나). Yong-Soo and Hyung-Soo are not native to China, they still retain some Korean mannerisms and ways of speech. The same can be said of Kasem, who is originally from Thailand, and Lien as well to a certain extent, who was born in China but was raised by a Vietnamese mother until her abandonment.

Due to labor shortages because of the war, and as Korea was a territory of Japan until the end of 1945, up to six million Koreans were forcibly sent overseas to work. About eighty-thousand ethnic Koreans died in Manchuria alone. A good deal of these deaths consisted of children and comfort women, who were basically women kidnapped under the pretext of getting a job and forced into prostitution.

Also, a thing to keep in mind, is that no matter how mature Chun-Yan may act, she is still just a child. No matter how adult-like she behaves, remember that she is not one, and will not be a true one for a very long time.

"..." is speaking in Mandarin.

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 _historia de vita mea_

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 **chapter two—**

 **what we have lost**

* * *

 _November, 1958_

There is a dream I have sometimes, when autumn slowly trails away to form the bitter winds of winter, when the frost climbs up the glass windowsills and I crawl into the beds of my elder siblings. A woman holds me, her arms warm and comforting, and hums a lullaby that clings to the edges of my memory upon awakening. It is a peaceful dream, tranquil and comfortable, until suddenly everything shifts into screams and silver flashes and the sound of metal against metal.

* * *

Breakfast today is at first a quiet affair, as well as an unfulfilling one; only a meager amount of fish congee, served with a barely sustainable side of pickled vegetables and preserved chicken. Jia Long- _ge_ fills the silence by droning about his uneventful day yesterday in the local coffee cafe, where he and Andre- _ge_ go to work on weekdays, serving foreigners and the occasional police officer. The revenue from the inn is not nearly enough to sustain us in the early winter season, where we have the least customers, and so everybody, with the exception of myself and Mei- _jie_ , has a designated occupation outside of the inn.

"Some of the foreigners were talking about you when I was taking orders," Andre- _ge_ says to Mei- _jie_ , setting down his bowl. I look up, vaguely interested with the topic, but back down when Kiku- _ge_ stares at me and purses his lips disapprovingly. "It seems you're infamous in the district. One of them tried to ask me for an introduction." He sounds irritated, maybe, although it's almost impossible to tell with Andre- _ge_. He could be trying to kill you brutally while still having a gentle smile on his face.

"Is he an army man?" Mei- _jie_ giggles, fanning herself with a wooden paper fan, the ones that sell in the markets for maybe ten or twelve yuan. It's unlikely that she would buy something like that herself, especially with the Kiku monitoring household expenses so rigorously, so I surmise it must have been a hastily-smuggled gift from some blushing shopboy. Mei- _jie_ has always seemed to possess the prettiest clothes, the most fashionable accessories, the best quality items, even in times of widespread poverty like these. I pity whoever will be her future husband. "Oh, but if he's too unattractive don't bother."

"Tell that to the _lao wai_ yourself," Jia Long- _ge_ scoffs; he has long held a disregard for Mei- _jie_ , far beyond the normal sibling enmities. I think that his naturally taciturn personality disagrees with Mei- _jie_ 's more dismissive one, although it could just be pure speculation on my part.

Mei- _jie_ glares back at Jia Long- _ge_ , tilting her head back in a derisive manner. The locks of hair over her ears shift with the movement, revealing an expensive-looking silver earring on her right ear, different from what she was wearing yesterday. We would never be able to spend so much money on something as trivial as jewelry, so I know that she must have coaxed it from one of her wealthier suitors. "I wasn't talking to you, you _wang ba dan—_ "

" _Mei_ ," Kiku- _ge_ says coldly, and at once Mei- _jie_ silences, seemingly all too aware of her forbidden transgression. "That is enough from you now. Put the fan away. Dinner is a time for family—I am talking to you as well, Jia Long," he says, when Jia Long- _ge_ opens his mouth to make a rude comment.

There is an awkward silence as Mei- _jie_ and Jia Long- _ge_ glare at each other angrily, interrupted only by Yong-Soo- _ge_ reaching across the table to grab another piece of _zha cai_ , or pickled mustard stem. It is not common knowledge outside of the inn, but Jia Long- _ge_ is a bastard child, the product of _Baba_ having an unmarried relationship with a _laowai_ , or foreigner.

 _Baba'_ s first wife, back when he still lived in Anhui province as a farmer, had been a _laowai_ as well, a Christian missionary who had died not soon after giving birth to Andre- _ge_. When I was very young, he used to speak of her when _Mama_ was not present, spinning vivid tales of her bright green eyes and long, beautiful brown hair. Andre- _ge_ and Jia Long- _ge_ look Han enough to pass for full Chinese ancestry, but their European features are still very, _very_ much visible, and it has become taboo to engage in such talk inside the Inn.

"Marriage..." Lien- _jie_ mutters, consideringly. I glance at her, curiosity replacing my initial hesitation and fear of Kiku- _ge_ 's chastisement. It is strange how Lien- _jie,_ at twenty-seven, has never married, or even talked of matters of love, when she is hawkishly beautiful, all sharp angles and frigid countenance. She would have certainly no trouble finding a lover, or even a rich husband, even at her age. There are some rumors among the villager that she will die an old maid; she is long past the traditional age for marrying, and has never shown any inclination to.

"Eh, did you find someone you like, _noona_?" Yong-Soo- _ge_ asks, his mouth still full of half-chewed _zha cai_. "How come you never told us? When is the wedding going to take place? Why am I not the organizer? After all, it was Korea that invented the concept of weddings, you know." He swallows just as he finishes speaking, producing an impish smile, prompting Hyung-Soo _-_ _ge_ to give his shoulder a brusque nudge.

Lien- _jie_ shakes her head, gesturing to Kiku- _ge_ with slender, calloused fingers from countless hours of physical labor. He stares back, looking almost resigned, as he already knows what she will say next. "You are twenty-seven in four months." The end up her sentence lilts upwards, almost as if she is asking a question. "When will you bring home a bride?"

Kiku- _ge_ frowns, scraping away the last grains of rice from his bowl, and sets the bowl down quietly back onto the table. His right fingers are a stark white colour from the sheer force he grips the chopsticks with. "I do not need a bride," he says curtly, adjusting his jacket to fill the new silence. "What is the use of one more mouth to feed, especially in times like these?"

"A child in the house would be nice, _ana_ ," Kasem- _ge_ remarks, receiving a scathing glance from Kiku- _ge_ for his efforts. "Chun-Yan is getting too old to pamper now, ah, and Mei is already getting marriage proposals. Back in Thailand, the elders would always say, 'A house without children is a lonely one, indeed.'"

There is a wistful tone in his voice. It is easy to forget that Kasem- _ge_ , and even Yong Soo- _ge_ and Hyung Soo- _ge_ are not native to Shanghai, or even China, for that matter, when my earliest memories are filled with them inside the inn, fooling around and being scolded by _Mama_. Try as I might, I cannot connect them to the children forced to work all day in horrific conditions in Japanese labor camps as I have often heard about from conversations between patrons of the inn.

"No," Kiku- _ge_ says, his tone final. "If you want children, Kasem, bring home a bride yourself."

Kasem- _ge_ doesn't seem to get the memo. "How can the second son marry before the first?" he says stubbornly, placing his hands on the table. "Kiku, you will be thirty in another three years, _ana_ , and time goes by quickly. Before you know it, you will be old, ah, and children will laugh at you on the streets."

Kiku- _ge_ doesn't do anything for a few seconds after Kasem- _ge_ 's response, before suddenly bursting into self-decrepitating laughter. I cannot help but stare, transfixed at this sudden shift in personality; even at his angriest, I have never seen Kiku- _ge_ react in such a loud and obvious manner before. "What kind of a woman would ever marry me?" he says, chuckling darkly. Kasem- _ge_ and the twins shift nervously in their seats. Even Lien- _jie_ looks uncomfortable with his uncharacteristic behavior. "Who would want a—," he pauses, narrowing his eyes with distaste, "— _mongrel_ as a husband?"

Kiku- _ge_ 's biological father had been a Japanese soldier from the War of Jiawu, who had remained behind in China even after all the other Japanese troops had withdrawn. I do not know the complete details of this story, but supposedly he had had a brief illicit affair with a Beijing prostitute, bore a child with her, and then was killed in an anti-Japanese mob attack, and the prostitute, fearful for her safety, pleaded _Baba_ to take on the child. It is a messy tale that I have no wish to delve in, detail-wise, and has always remained a bitter sentiment for Kiku- _ge_ , a reminder that his very existence will bring him contempt and fear in this country if anyone were to find out the truth. Perhaps this is why he is so protective over Jia Long- _ge_ and Andre- _ge_ 's half-Han identities, and so disdainful over those that bring it up.

There is a long moment of silence afterwards, where no one knows quite what to say. Kiku- _ge_ stands up, taking his bowl with him, depositing it in the kitchen sink before stalking out silently.

* * *

After the scene at breakfast, Mei- _jie_ convinces me to go out shopping with her for clothing, or, perhaps, in more appropriate terms, her coaxing some unsuspecting rich man to buy her expensive items, while under the pretense of shopping at the local marketplace. We are joined by one of the many suitors that seem to be completely wrapped around her little finger, a tall, handsome soldier by the name of Wang Ma, who currently works directly under Chairman Mao's leadership but is rather low on the chain of command. He is perhaps a little older than Mei- _jie_ , nineteen, or twenty at the most, clean-shaven and still a little baby-faced, but carries himself about in the polished, pompous way of a rich businessman. His mouth, too, is much beyond his years, much like one of an old man without a filter.

Ma is prominent enough to own his own car, a pretty red thing that makes strange sounds when the road becomes bumpy. I have only ridden a car exactly sixteen times in my entire life, and three of those times were with _Baba_ and _Mama_ , so the experience alone is enough to leave me wide-eyed and in awe. We drive for a long time, perhaps half an hour or so, before we reach the more modernized section of Shanghai, where high buildings and cars and even trains are everywhere, a paradigm of Western influence.

" _Ooh_ , look at that, Ma _,_ " Mei- _jie_ giggles, pointing to a gaggle of schoolchildren, perhaps a few years younger than me, walking across the roadside. Most of them are boys, but the skirts that five or six of them wear give them away as girls, a foreign concept. _Baba_ and my siblings had taught me how to read and write and do simple arithmetic, and I had been educated at the local state-funded school when I was younger, but most girls my age are not so lucky. Many of them grow up illiterate and ignorant, destined only to marry young and bear a child to some man that takes a liking to them.

"Very cute, aren't they?" Ma says, blithely. I begin to wonder if he is feigning obliviousness, or if he really is that stupid. "After we marry, our children will surely be like that someday as well."

Mei- _jie_ hides a coy laugh behind the sleeve of her jacket, and I know that she doesn't really harbor any such intentions of the sort. She is cruel in that way, behind all the makeup and pretty words, a temptress that finds joy in the futile hope of her victims. Ma is not the first man that has mentioned marriage or a proposal to Mei- _jie_ , and he will not be the last. He is simply one in many, a fly caught in a web of lies and deceit.

We arrive at our destination a few minutes later, a small square surrounded by shops and tall high-rise buildings. Mei- _jie_ blends in easily with the local residents, with her fashionable Bragi dress and sleekly styled hair, earning her the tacit approval and admiration of many of the people that pass us by. Ma seems to be proud of this fact, puffing up his chest as he leads Mei- _jie_ by the arm, with me trailing behind in the background like an insistent gnat.

We stop by a dressmaker's shop first, which is already populated by a few of the local women that seem to do nothing but giggle and gossip insipidly. I stop and admire the swathes of fabric that hang from the shelves, thousands and thousands of pretty patterns catching my eye. Pre-made designs are featured on wire mannequins, trending styles that will be irrelevant by next spring, and I wonder how rich the people that live in this part of the city must be, to be able to afford buying a new dress every time the fashion changes.

To my complete surprise, Mei- _jie_ insists on having a dress fitted for me first. Ma seems annoyed with the fact that he will be paying for my outfit as well as hers, but lightens up when he seems to remember that I might become his future sister-in-law and that it will be due good to impress me.

The store attendant takes my measurements, stating that it will be easier to fit me in a dress because of my child-like proportions. She and Mei- _jie_ bicker over a suitable dress pattern for me, Mei- _jie_ favoring a plaid pattern and the attendant suggesting a monochromatic fabric, before finally resolving with a striped fabric that both agree make me look more mature. Ma pays the appropriate price for the dress—I do not know how much it must have cost, although judging by his sullen expression, very much—which will be made over the course of the next week and finished by the end of the month.

After the first exchange has been successful, Mei- _jie_ disappears into the recesses of the fitting room and I am left behind with Ma. There is not much to do, other than admire the fabric and mull in the awkward tension between us. I am not sure what he thinks of me; other than our introduction to each other, he has yet to speak to me without using Mei- _jie_ as a medium.

"Xiao-Yan." I look up, confused by the sudden usage of the overly familiar address. Ma looks awkward and uncertain, nervously fidgeting his fingers. "I hope you don't mind calling me that?" He pauses, his face flushed slightly red. "Has, your sister, uh... I mean, _Mei_ , ever mentioned me at home? To your brothers? Does she talk about me?" He looks like a hopeful puppy, looking up at me. "Has she said anything about marriage yet?"

I pause. Oh. _Oh_. It had not occurred to me that he was not completely assured of Mei- _jie_ 's love and unending adoration. Perhaps I had misjudged him; he was not as stupid as I had thought him to be. "No," I say bluntly, completely honest. "She doesn't talk much about those types of matters at all." I don't tell him about the conversation this morning, when she had casually asked Andre- _ge_ about the foreigners potentially interested in her, or the one that we had a few days ago, when she had confided to me that one of her suitors had gifted her a bracelet made out of real gold. Gold coating perhaps, but real gold nonetheless.

He looks disappointed. "Uh, oh. Okay. Thanks for telling me." And then, looking around the room for any potential witnesses, whispers in my ear: "Do you think it'd be too early to arrange for a fortune teller to test our affinity?"

I glance at him, too confused to say anything in response. Never have I met such a dedicated suitor, who has gone so far as to think about arranging a fortune teller to tell them their compatibility within a few months or so of their relationship. Mei- _jie_ really is lucky, some part of me thinks deep inside, that she is so beautiful and charming. To have people love her to such an extent. A bitter jealousy creeps inside my heart, tendrils of envy and greed ensnaring my chest until it feels as if it is going to burst.

For some reason, I am suddenly reminded of that girl I had met in the Inn in what seemed like so long ago, who I had abandoned so cruelly solely because of something that she could not control. The look of betrayal that had stayed on her face, as I ran away like the coward I was. The scene replays itself in my mind, mocking and scornful, as if reminding myself what a disgusting person I really am.

Luckily, Mei- _jie_ returns before I can properly answer him. She looks excited, her cheeks flushed red, and latches onto Ma's arm, giggling, as he dutifully pays for the cost of that dress as well. From where I stand behind her, I can see the silver hoop earrings hidden behind her hair, another reminiscent memory of a man who had thought that he could win her love with money.

* * *

We stop by a few more shops after that. In that time, Mei- _jie_ somehow wheedles Ma into buying her a pretty jade necklace, a pair of red cloth shoes, a silken parasol, and a pair of flower hair pins that sparkle in the sunlight. Ma is considerate enough to offer me an embroidered cloth handkerchief, which I tuck dutifully into the depths of my Bragi dress. We buy _baozi_ , or steamed meat buns, from the street vendors for lunch, once again out of the pocket of our gracious host.

Ma drops the two of us off at the market, a short walk from home. By the time we return back to the Inn, it has already become late afternoon. Hyung-Soo- _ge_ and Kasem- _ge_ are waiting for us near the lobby, the former who appears absolutely furious.

" _Just w_ _hat were you thinking_ ," he hisses to Mei- _jie_ , looking at the assortment of gifts on her person, "when you left to go adventuring with one of your suitors, with your _younger sister_ , nonetheless? We searched the marketplace, and there was no sign of you anywhere." He stares pointedly at the hairpins and the necklace, and then at the parasol and the bag with the shoes in them with absolute disgust. He scans over me as well, snorting coldly when he finds no objects on my person. The handkerchief in my pocket feels as heavy as stone.

" _Jie j_ _ie_ said we could go," Mei- _jie_ says back stubbornly, looking defensive. She inclines her head, stepping slightly to the right so that she stands directly in front of me, as if shielding me from his ire. "And since when did you care so much, _ge_?"

" _Noona_ only agreed that you could go visit the market. What kind of example do you think you're setting for Xiao-Yan?" Hyung-Soo- _ge_ says heatedly, ignoring Kasem- _ge_ 's best attempts to calm him down. "What if something happened to you, and we don't know where you are? What if he kidnaps you, or rapes you, or kills you, or all of them? You don't know his intentions, and yet you willingly go on a car ride for the sake of a few silly baubles? What if Xiao-Yan starts imitating you, and something happens to _her_? She's only thirteen, do you think she understands everything as well as you do? Is it really worth it?"

Mei _-jie_ 's voice cracks. "You're not my father, so stop acting like you are!" she shouts, throwing the parasol to the floor. It clatters on the ground, the white silk dirtied with dust. I freeze, unaware of what to do in the situation.

"No, I'm not," Hyung-Soo- _ge_ agrees quietly, "but I'm your older brother, and I will not watch you recklessly endanger yourself or your sister and do nothing." There is a long moment in which nobody moves, a heavy solemn silence that permeating the room in heavy gloom.

Mei- _jie_ moves first, running up the stairway in tears. "I will talk to her now, _ana,_ " Kasem- _ge_ says almost apologetically, following the staircase. That leaves me alone to face Hyung-Soo- _ge._ It is not a match that I will win.

He looks at me, his eyes filled with disappointment. I want to shy away from his gaze, but somehow I am unable to move, fixated on almost completely black irises. "You silly girl," he says at last, reaching out a hand to rest on my head, simultaneously messing up my ox-horns. I make no attempt to move away. "You stupid, foolish girl." He sighs, pulling me into his arms. "Don't do anything as stupid as that ever again, no matter how much your idiot of a sister tries to convince you. We've already lost our parents. I don't think any one of us could lose you, too."

I don't know why, or how, or any of the semantics of it, but suddenly I am sobbing in Hyung-Soo- _ge_ 's shoulder, my tears forming a wet patch on the fabric of his Lenin coat. The hair from his braid pricks against my face, but I ignore it, too distracted with venting out everything wrong in the world: my rash callousness, my ugly jealousy, my utter judgemental _idiocy_ —

We stay that way for a long time, before I fall asleep against the crook of his neck, the comforting warmth of his shoulder enough to lull me rest.

* * *

When I wake up, I am lying on Lien- _jie_ 's mattress. Beside me, Lien- _jie_ is asleep as well, her legs tangled with mine in an amalgamation of limbs, her thick quilt draped over the both of us. Her arm is splayed under me as well, my head resting against the crook of her elbow. It is warm and comfortable, and I stay there for a few moments, appreciating the feeling of being next to someone.

"That's the problem, we can't continue on like this." A low male voice catches my attention, throbbing at the edges of my hearing. I recognize it as Hyung Soo- _ge_ 's voice, although why he would be awake so late is beyond my scope of reasoning. "Old Chen from the miller's is already refusing to sell to us. Says that they have to prioritize their own mouths first. People are already starting to starve to death in the Southern Provinces."

"We will have other crops if they won't sell us wheat," someone else responds. I strain my ears, trying to make out the owner of the voice. Andre- _ge_. "And there is always fish, so we won't starve."

"That's not the main issue here," Hyung-Soo- _ge_ says. "Our customers will greatly decrease, as a result of the famine. We could potentially run out of money."

I sharply intake a breath in surprise. There is a sudden silence from the other side of the silk screen. I still, not daring to move, until the sound of movement resumes.

Andre- _ge_ replies with something unintelligible.

"But I don't think that's what you will need to be worried about," Hyung-Soo- _ge_ says dryly. "Can you still remember the riots and looting during the war? What if they decide to burn this whole place down? What speech will our most esteemed Chairman Mao give then?"

"Are we close enough to the countryside for that to happen?" Andre- _ge_ replies. There is a soft thump, as something moves.

"Stop this, the both of you," another voice says. I identify it as Kiku- _ge_. "We will discuss this in the morning. It is too late now."

The voices stop. I lay still, replaying the conversation in my head until I fall asleep once again.

* * *

.


End file.
